


Play it Cool

by greerwatson



Series: Depths of Cold [5]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Half-Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26819065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/greerwatson
Summary: When Lisa returns, Leo's life is turned upside down.
Relationships: Leonard Snart & Lewis Snart, Leonard Snart & Lisa Snart
Series: Depths of Cold [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1317896
Kudos: 4
Collections: Small FEAR 2020





	Play it Cool

When the doorbell rang, Leo was upstairs in his bedroom, sprawled on the floor doing his homework. It was Dad who went to see who it was; and Leo had no especial curiosity about the voices downstairs. Later that evening, the two of them went out to burgle a jeweller’s shop downtown; when they got back, Dad sent him straight off to bed since it was a school night. It was not, therefore, until Leo got home for dinner the next day that Dad mentioned—almost casually over take-out Chinese—that Darlene had been killed in a traffic accident. “In Metropolis,” he added. “I guess she’s been living there.”

“How do you know?”

“The police came round yesterday to tell me.”

So … soon after a police visit they’d gone out to rob the jeweller’s? Leo was astonished. “I’ve had that heist planned for a while,” Dad pointed out and laughed. “Well, think about it: the cops’ll never guess the grieving husband had more important things on his mind, that’s for sure.” After a moment, he added, “Though why anyone would think I’d cry over milk that spilled _that_ long ago is beyond me.”

The death of Darlene was not much on Leo’s mind, either. That Saturday, when he made his usual trip over to see Gramps, he was more interested in the movie they were going to see. _Back to the Future_ had been on that summer and, at Leo’s urging, they’d seen it twice. Gramps had made quite a few comments about the accuracy—or not—of the depiction of the 1950s time travel, but admitted he’d rather enjoyed it himself. This week, they perused the listings in the entertainment section for a good ten minutes, discussing possibilities. (“No, Lenny,” said Gramps firmly. “I’m not sneaking you into something R-rated.”) They settled on a teen werewolf movie that would not—or so Gramps audibly hoped—be too scary for someone Leo’s age. It was showing at the Vogue; so they took the bus. Afterwards they went for food, passing up the chance of Indian or Chinese at restaurants near the cinema for the familiar plain fare at the Motorcar, even if it did mean a bit of a walk. The chicken fingers were pretty okay, Leo thought, especially with the hot sauce; and he scarfed his down fast. Then, while Gramps finished his meal a lot slower, he brought him up to date.

“Metropolis, huh?” said Gramps. “Well, she got about as far away as possible, short of Alaska.” Then he asked, “What’s happening with Lisa?”

Leo was startled by the question. It certainly hadn’t occurred to him to ask; and he’d no idea. However, Gramps continued to look at him inquiringly; so finally he replied, doubtfully, “She’ll be going to live with Darlene’s folks, I s’pose.”

He didn’t bother to repeat Gramps’s question to Dad when he got home. They watched a movie on TV that Sunday; and Leo somehow crammed in his ever-present homework, not that he ever found it all that difficult to do. The following week was school as usual. Dad seemed edgy; and a couple of times he acted as though he was about to say something, but each time he said it could keep till later. So Leo had no notice to speak of before, that Friday, he answered the door to find yet another new social worker standing on the step. She held a little girl by the hand.

“You must be Leonard,” the woman said, giving him a sweet, professional smile. “What do they call you? Len?” And before he could answer, she looked down and said, “Lisa, dear, this is your big brother Lenny.”

The child looked up with big solemn eyes and said nothing.

“She’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

Her hair was scrunchied up into two little tails; and she wore a pale blue V-necked sweater over a lilac T-shirt, with a short, flared, bright blue skirt. She was a tiny doll.

There wasn’t a word in his head.

Behind him, he could hear his father run downstairs; and then Lewis took the door from his hand and opened it wide. “Come in,” he said, “you must be…?”

“Anne Mortimer,” said the social worker. “We spoke on the phone. And this is Lisa.”

Dad got down on one knee. “Hi, Lisa,” he said. “You won’t remember me; but I’m your Daddy.”

After an awkward staring moment, Miss Mortimer quickly said, “This is all very new to her, Mr. Snart.”

“Of course,” said Dad smoothly. He got up, dusted his knee, and ushered the visitors in to the living room, where he offered coffee (“Or soda?” to Lisa), and went into the kitchen to put on the kettle. Miss Mortimer sat down primly; and Lisa scrambled up on the couch, with her little legs sticking out. She wore white socks and blue sneakers. All Leo could think was that someone else must have done them up for her, for she was surely too young to have tied the neat bows in the laces herself; and was it Miss Mortimer, or some social worker in Metropolis? He couldn’t really ask; and he had no idea what else to say.

After a few seconds, he went over and sat on the opposite end of the sofa. Lisa looked briefly round at him. Then she looked down, examining the full skirt of her dress as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Dad came back with an apologetic “Wasn’t expecting you till next Friday,” and Miss Mortimer replied, “It was a surprise to us, too. The telegram only came this morning.” “I was meaning to get kids’ furniture maybe tomorrow,” said Dad, “but there’s the guest room for a day or two.”

Leo kept looking at Lisa, who turned back the hem of the skirt, studied it, and then began picking at the thread with her fingers.

After a pause, Dad said “I still have to make arrangements. I work, obviously.” And Miss Mortimer said, “I do realize it’s short notice; but that’s where I hope I can be of help. She’s old enough for nursery school part of the day.”

Gramps must have guessed, Leo thought, listening to them with one ear as he watched Lisa. It made sense, of course. Dad was Lisa’s father, too. She _was_ family. And now she was home.

At any moment, he thought, she’s going to get a stitch of that hem unravelled.

“I’ve got her things in a suitcase in the car,” said Miss Mortimer.

* * *

Almost immediately, Leo found that Lisa’s arrival impacted all the familiar routines of his life. With Miss Mortimer’s assistance, she was admitted to the local nursery school, and it was arranged with one of the mothers that she would care for Lisa for the rest of the day. Mrs. Taverner refused, however, to keep her till dinner time; and, for children that age, dinner comes early. As Lewis worked at a garage the other side of town, it was Leo who had the chore of taking his sister home. Naturally, he was engrossed with his friends: inevitably, he forgot to ask the time. After he was late twice in the first week, Lewis bought him a watch. In itself, this was a matter of some pride for, although it was not one of the new digital ones Leo’d seen advertised in TV commercials, it was still a smart-looking battery watch. However, it was a responsibility in its own right, as he learned when he cracked the glass in a wild tackle and got a taste of Dad’s belt.

“You’re old enough to take care of your things,” he told Leo firmly. “Maybe this’ll remind you.”

Thereafter, Leo carefully took the watch off and stowed it in the duffle bag with his books and homework. It sat at the edge of the field while he played. So did Lisa for, rather than risk being late again, he simply went to Mrs. Taverner’s straight after school, collected her, and carted her round with him for the rest of the afternoon. The little girl became a familiar sight to the boys, sitting patiently near the sidelines watching her brother. Or, of course, wandering off to the swings and sandbox, at least until someone noticed her absence and yelled at Leo to go find her. Which he’d do—also “of course”—lest she decide to try to take herself home, and either get lost or be found by Dad sitting on the doorstep. Which happened a couple of times, as Leo’s ass learned to its cost.

Dinner had never been held all that late; but it had to be shifted earlier to accommodate Lisa’s bedtime. At first Dad still just brought in take-out most days. Then Miss Mortimer, coming round to check on their “routines”, made strong suggestions about fruits and vegetables and insisted on milk. Shopping then became another of Leo’s chores; and, from the perspective of a boy in junior high, a most embarrassing one. He had to go down to the mall, holding Lisa by the hand as they crossed the big road, and then come back from the supermarket toting sacks filled with stuff like oranges, breakfast cereal, and eggs. Lisa would trip lightly along at his side, maybe holding a loaf of bread (and squashing it “’cause it’s so nice and soft”), chattering nineteen to the dozen about her friends at the nursery school or Mrs. Taverner making brownies. Anyone could see them, and sometimes did. Grocery shopping was a girls’ thing to Leo; and he hated it.

His one refuge ought to have been Gramps. After all, he wasn’t _Lisa’s_ grandfather! Yet, even there, the little girl messed him up. Dad had long since stopped driving him over there, and had his own ideas for the weekend: things like the amusement park and the zoo—family activities that were right up Miss Mortimer’s alley, and would show her he was a good parent. Going to visit Gramps (while presumably not the sort of thing a social worker would actually _dis_ approve) had nothing to do with Lisa. That meant Leo needed to go at another time. The trouble was that “another time” couldn’t be during school, either. Which left going when he was supposed to be minding Lisa. However, she was too young to be left on her own; and the round trip took Leo too long for her to stay with Mrs. Taverner. So perforce he had to shell out another car fare from his own pocket money and take her with him there, as well.

Gramps did understand the situation when it was explained; but he never could be brought to see the unfairness of it all. Instead, he treated Lisa as if she were actually his own grandkid, even though she wasn’t. He was “Gramps” to her, too. And Lisa got completely accustomed to her brother’s having two versions of Leonard to his name, and took easily to calling him “Lenny”. To add injury to insult, her company meant an end to the thrills and chills of the movies Leo adored. Gramps insisted instead that they go to _The Care Bears_. At least afterwards they headed for the Motorcar as usual, though they took the bus instead of walking because it was too far for Lisa’s legs. She had a strawberry milkshake with her burger, and talked nonstop about the cartoon.

Gramps was charmed. Leo wasn’t.

From his perspective, it was only after Lisa was in bed that life returned to normal more or less. Sometimes more, and sometimes less. Leo did his homework and maybe watched TV: football with Dad on Mondays; _The A-Team_ on Tuesdays; comedy Thursdays, unless Dad insisted there was a movie he wanted to see. Some evenings, there would be a babysitter from an agency. That was when Dad was “going out” in the manner of any single man, openly for the neighbours to see. Those nights Leo left the TV to the sitter, pled homework, and stayed in his room. There he practiced card tricks, browsed his latest library books, or tried to solve the Rubik’s cube he’d swiped during a heist last summer. Eventually, the sitter would call up for him to go to bed; and he’d doze off, waking at the sound of the back door and Dad coming in from the garage.

Alone, nowadays. Dad never brought women back the way he used to. There was no new Darlene, or even a Shelley. The appeal of girls was still mostly a mystery to Leo, but he pondered the reason for the change in habit. Since Lisa was long since asleep, it couldn’t be her. He finally concluded that perhaps Dad thought the babysitters would disapprove of his ever-changing girlfriends and tattle to Miss Mortimer.

There was a lot, Leo decided bitterly, that was changing just to please Miss Mortimer. In fact, her drop-by check-ups were a chronic nuisance. Almost as much as Lisa. Between them, they’d pretty well wrecked all the habits of life at Hadley Avenue. Getting a little sister was like being hit by a bus. (No, bigger. _Definitely_ bigger.) Getting a little sister was like being hit by a train.

“You’re a fucking trainwreck,” he muttered one day when he had to walk out on a game early to take her home.

“Leo _swore_ ,” she tattled when they got in.

For once, Dad just laughed.

Yet, even so, the advent of Lisa was not wholly blightful. They’d never really kept Christmas much at Hadley Avenue. It wasn’t Dad’s style to celebrate holidays—unless you counted empty houses being “celebrated” when people went away leaving their property free for the taking. Gram had been big on Christmas; and Gramps still put up a small tree, bought presents, and served a good meal, if not on Christmas itself then the following day. Leo bought no gifts; but Lenny did, and with good will. They were never much; but they came from the heart.

This year, however, Dad bought a tree from the pop-up display outside the supermarket, along with some balls and garlands that were shelved down the end of one of the aisles. It meant pretty well all the furniture in the living room had to be shifted so they could be put up. The decorations did not take long; but Lisa was thrilled to help put things up on branches she could reach—and, even if she dropped a few, they were unbreakable, being plastic. Underneath, Dad piled a sudden collection of mystery boxes, already wrapped by the store. Afterwards, they put on the lights, and every night thereafter, too. The tree had been carefully positioned so the sparkle could be seen through the front window by any neighbour passing by.

That Saturday, they all took a trip downtown to see the coloured lights along the main street and the fancy Christmas windows in the department stores. Lisa pressed close to the glass, fascinated by the clockwork fairy tale characters. Even Leo was impressed, by the mechanics if not the subject matter. Then they went into the store so that Lisa could sit on Santa’s knee; and Lewis paid for a family photo. This was shown to Miss Mortimer on her next visit, while Lisa babbled happily.

On Christmas Day, take-out dinner was a Christmas special that came with cranberry sauce. The following week-end, they all went to see _One Hundred and One Dalmatians_. Dad took Leo to the skate exchange; Lisa got a tiny pair of white girl’s skates; and they all went to the rink. She had her first lesson, wobbling and holding Dad’s hand; and Leo signed up for the local boys’ hockey team, proud with his new stick.

Lisa’s birthday was in March; and Lewis decided it would be a good idea if she had a birthday party. Mrs. Taverner was consulted as to appropriate details; kids from the nursery school were invited; there were balloons and gift bags, lots of games to play, ice cream and cake, and the odd small tantrum; and Leo was conscripted to help do the shopping, blow up balloons, and help the mommies keep it all from turning into a miniature riot. There were times, as Lisa’s friends buzzed around his knees, that he almost feared he might accidentally step on one of them. He had to admit, though, to himself (though never aloud), that she looked utterly charming in her red velveteen dress with the puffy sleeves, short flounced skirt, and little lace collar. He could almost … almost! … forget the ordeal of fastening the little buckles on the straps of her shiny black shoes.

After the party was over, Dad produced a pair of Combines tickets as a reward and, that weekend, hired a babysitter. They went to the hockey game, Dad and son together. It was just the way it should be.

Yet, only two nights later, he told Leo he was going out on a job … alone.

Dad’s garage job might govern his days; but his _real_ work was his night job. Oh, it was not every night. Not even every week. That, Dad said, was the way to get caught. Planning took much time and careful reconnaissance before you got to enjoy the thrill of slipping out without the neighbours even guessing, to cross town on near-empty backstreets, defeat burglar alarms, scale walls, and force windows in order to pick locks and solve combination safes, finally to get at the secret valuables. And Leo had been Dad’s partner. A junior partner, obviously: Dad did the real planning, though much of the spying out was Leo’s job; and selling their loot was wholly on Dad. Still, Leo had always known his own contribution to every heist was a real one.

Now, though….

“Your sister’s too young to be left alone,” Dad said. “What if she wakes up in the middle of the night and no one’s there? Who knows what she’d say, and who to? You can’t exactly get a babysitter for a burglary!”

That night, once again, Leo lay awake in his bed, worrying. He knew his own hands were defter than his father’s, not to mention that he was still small enough to get through places that Dad couldn’t manage. Without a partner, Dad would have to do all the delicate, tricky work himself. And keep lookout. What if he missed an alarm? What if the people came home early? What if the cops saw a light? What if there was a shoot-out?

When he heard the quiet sound of the back door and his father’s steps on the stairs Leo didn’t call out. He knew his Dad would get angry at any hint of suggestion that he couldn’t hack the job without his son’s help. Also, it might wake Lisa. Still, each time Lewis went out on a robbery, it wasn’t till he came home safe that Leo let himself fall asleep.

* * *

In the summer, a letter arrived from Opal City. Leo saw it on the floor of the hall when he came in, along with a couple of bills and a bunch of advertising circulars. He left the whole lot on the table for Dad to deal with when he came home, and thought nothing more of it until Miss Mortimer came round and he overheard the pair of them arguing. Darlene’s parents wanted their granddaughter to come and visit them.

“It was their own decision to move,” Dad said angrily. “If they want to see her, they can damn well visit Central City themselves! I can’t just take time off! I’ve a job!”

“They suggest the Fourth of July,” said Miss Mortimer, in all too reasonable tones. “It’s a holiday. You’ll get time off.”

Leo did not bother to go in to the grown-ups in the living room. Instead, he found Lisa in the back garden. She was picking flowerheads off weeds by the fence.

“Do you want a picnic?” she asked. “That’s a lemon cake.” She pointed to a wilting dandelion.

“No, thanks,” he said. He sat down and watched as she set her toys in a circle on the grass, laid out plastic dishes, and arranged the “food” carefully. When she seemed finished, he asked, “Did you ever meet your mother’s folks? Actually _meet_ them, I mean.”

A box addressed to Lisa had arrived in mid December. Inside were a wrapped present and a “Merry Christmas” card. It had a picture of a teddy in a tartan tie, was put up on the little dresser in Lisa’s room, and was loudly admired. Unfortunately, Lisa had assumed her gift would also be a bear, and was very disappointed when it turned out to be a jigsaw puzzle she couldn’t figure out how to assemble. On her birthday, however, she got a set of tiny baking trays. Mrs. Taverner filled them with Betty Crocker cake mix, which she let Lisa help stir and spoon into the fluted paper cups; and she also was allowed to daub them over with frosting from a can, decorating them liberally with multi-coloured sprinkles. Leo’d had one of them when he came to pick Lisa up that day; and she’d insisted on bringing one home with them for Dad.

Lisa considered Leo’s question carefully. “I think they came to visit us once,” she said finally. “Only I was really little then. I don’t remember much about them.”

There were also monthly telephone calls. Leo had got used to hearing Lisa chirrup to “Grandma” and “Granddad”—not for too long, though, since long distance calls cost money.

“They used to live here in Central City,” he observed. “Only I guess they moved.”

“To Opah City,” Lisa agreed. “Opahs are a pretty stone. All colours mixed up, Mommy said. I never saw one, though.”

“Opal,” said Leo. “With an L.” He realized too late that Lisa probably didn’t know her letters yet. “Maybe I can find a picture in a book and show you. Next time I go to the library.”

A few days later, he did bring back a book on geology that had coloured pictures in it; and Lisa oohed and aahed over all the pretty stones. He was a bit nervous when Dad saw it; but, in fact, he praised Leo for wanting to learn about thievable goods. A fair point, Leo thought; and he began to borrow books on art history and jewellery design. Lisa did not, however, get to visit Opal City. “That's a long drive to take with a little girl,” Dad had said to Miss Mortimer, “if it’s to be only a long weekend. Three airline tickets, that’s what you’re talking about. You think I can pay that? And a hotel, too!”

They could have afforded it, of course: Leo knew that perfectly well. It was not as though Dad only had the garage job. But Miss Mortimer didn’t know that—mustn’t know that!—and, moreover, needed to hear a plausible reason for denying Lisa’s grandparents the visit. “They never wanted me to marry her,” Lewis said later, more to himself than to Leo. “Tried to talk Darlene out of it, you know. I’ve always reckoned it was _them_ really persuaded her to leave.” After a while, he added, “Thank God Lisa’s far too young to visit them on her own. I wouldn’t trust them to send her home.”

It was towards the end of the summer when, on the way back from visiting Gramps one hot afternoon, Lisa twisted round on the seat of the bus and asked, “Why’m I a trainwreck?” It took Leo a long, startled moment even to ask what she meant.

“You said I’m a trainwreck,” she declared.

“When’d I say that?”

“A while ago.” She thought a bit and added, “After school one day. You said, ‘You’re a fuckin’ trainwreck,’ as we walked home.”

It sounded ridiculous quoted by a kid so tiny. Had he said it? He supposed he had. (He might well have.) He couldn’t actually remember. What astonished him was the fact that she did.

“Why wouldn’t I?” A little hurt, Lisa added, “I never wrecked a train, Lenny. I don’t see how I _could_. Trains are too big.”

He couldn’t help but laugh.

“So why'm I a trainwreck?”

He could see from her little solemn, worried face that this was a question she must have mulled over ever since he’d snapped at her. He felt compelled to give her a serious answer. “I got no say in having you here, after all. You know that. It was all fixed up by _them_.”

“I didn’t get to say, either.” Lisa kicked the back of the seat ahead of them. “You’re a jerk, Lenny. You know that? I may be a trainwreck; but you’re a big, fat jerk.”

“Having you here’s changed everything for me,” he pointed out.

“I’ll grow up as fast as I can. I promise.”

And what, he wondered, if Darlene’s folks then borrowed her for a visit and forgot to return her? Truth be told, he’d kind of got used to having her around. What would it be like if she vanished as suddenly as she’d arrived? In a weird way, it might be he’d actually miss her.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank my fearbuddy, Ekevka, for support in continuing this series.


End file.
